


I hate people when they're not polite.

by d0gs



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Murder, Post Murder Fluff, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Pumpkin carving, Seasonal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27180079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d0gs/pseuds/d0gs
Summary: Hannibal shows Will how to carve a pumpkin as it's his first time doing so for Halloween. When they are rudely interrupted however, Will ends up carving more than a pumpkin.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	I hate people when they're not polite.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sparcina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/gifts).



> I saw that you wanted something seasonal and/or spooky and thought this seemed like a good way to combine those elements as well as the love and darkness these two share. I hope you enjoy reading this and Happy Halloween!
> 
> Title is from the Talking Heads song, [Psycho Killer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tqQGWhge5yo).

This looks as though it's going to be a lot harder than he thought, Will muses idly, helping Hannibal to haul the dead weight onto the dining room table that has been decked out in newspaper for this occasion.

It drops with a thud and Will lets out a small sigh of relief, flexing his fingers.

Hannibal smiles at him, a look of pure mischief sparkling in his eyes.

"Tired already, Will?"

"This is my first time doing it," Will says, defensively almost. "I probably won't be able to keep up with you and all your experience."

"Then it's a good thing I am a good teacher," Hannibal chuckles as he reaches for the knife.

"Hold the bottom half please," he instructs Will as he slides the knife in with one fluid motion.

"It's so weird that I've never actually done this before, on reflection," Will says softly, watching as Hannibal expertly slices the top off the large, orange pumpkin that sits on the worktable. "I mean the US is the Halloween capital of the world..."

"I must confess I find myself thankful that you never have. I'm honored that your first experience is with me," Hannibal lifts the top off and waits for Will to continue.

"I always wanted to do it, I just never really got a chance. My dad was never big into holidays and we never saw his sister, even though she sent cards on Christmas and birthdays. We moved around too much and she and my uncle didn't really go anywhere..." he trails off, reaching for the knife he'd laid out on his side of the pumpkin.

"I didn't have friends as a kid either, who I could do this with, and then after college when I was living by myself, there just didn't seem any point in doing it alone. Kind of like decorating for Christmas..."

Hannibal's face turns momentarily somber.

"I did away with certain holiday customs after Mischa's death," he reflects, looking down at the pumpkin that sits before them, waiting to be carved. "As you say, certain things are not meant to be celebrated by oneself."

Will reaches for Hannibal's empty hand with his own, intertwines their fingers and turns his gaze upwards to meet the taller man's.

"Yeah, some things are just meant to be enjoyed with someone special. Makes them all that more meaningful. This was worth waiting for, just like us" he smiles at Hannibal, who returns it, eyes shining.

"Let us commence then," Hannibal's tone is one again cheerful, "I must warn you however, that gutting a pumpkin can be quite tricky and tiresome work," he begins to hack away inside with the knife in and motions for Will to do the same at the other end.

"Trickier than gutting a human?" Will quips, eyebrow raised.

"That all depends on the human in question I suppose," Hannibal smirks, pulling out a length of pumpkin guts. They land with a squelching noise on the newspaper the gourd sits on.

Hannibal, as he so often is, is correct in his assessment about gutting and carving a pumpkin. Will had always thought it seemed easy enough; top off, innards out, carve in a smiling face and done. In reality it takes much, much longer than he expected, especially given the fact that Hannibal had insisted on procuring the largest pumpkin he could find at the patch.

They're working on carving the face together an hour later - Will is in charge of the mouth, Hannibal the nose and eyes - in companionable silence, save for the classical music playing on a low volume in the background when they hear it.

A loud thud at the back door. Basil, their rescue dog, wakes instantly from his snoozing by the fire, lifts his head from his paws, ears perked up and lets out a low and very hostile growl. Basil is ten years old and his body may be tired, but the Rottie spirit is still strong and willing; he sits up on his haunches, growling growing louder still as Hannibal and Will hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps in their kitchen; the room back door lets into.

"Didn't you lock the back door after you took Basil for his evening walk?" Hannibal whispers.

"Of course I did, but it's hardly Fort Knox. Any intruder could -"

Hannibal signals to him to be quiet, raising a finger to his lips.

The good news, Will thinks to himself is that it's probably not one of Jack Crawford's men. Breaking in through the back door at eleven thirty at night doesn't really scream undercover FBI agent. Still, you never know, could be someone desperate to bring down Hannibal and do what no one else has succeeded in doing yet - unless you count Will, given how Hannibal surrendered for _him_.

"Hannibal, I -"

Hannibal places his hand over Will's mouth, communicates with his eyes to him to not say another word once he removes his hand. His eyes flit to the pumpkin, where Will's knife is still embedded in the half finished grin.

Will understands, gives a small nod and Hannibal's' hand is gone, grabbing his own knife from the beginning of the Jack O' Lantern's second eye.

Together they make their way towards the door that adjoins both rooms; kitchen and dining room, both gripping the pumpkin stained knives in the hands.

Even though they haven't talked about what to do, Will knows Hannibal well enough to be aware of exactly what he's planning, knows that Hannibal trusts him to know. The kitchen door opens outwardly, onto the right hand side of the dining room, so Will takes his place at the left, and Hannibal stands in front of the dining room table. That way, once their uninvited guest has finished whatever it is that's keeping him in the kitchen - stealing all the silver, Hannibal surmises - and enters the dining room, he'll be greeted by the sight of Hannibal waiting for him, while being simultaneously surprised from behind by Will.

They hear the voice; it's a man's, deep and low pitched, muttering to himself and approaching the door. Will's eyes meet Hannibal's as the footsteps edge closer and closer to the door. Any minute now, Will thinks to himself and grins at Hannibal as he does. In truth, he's finding this a lot more exciting than he knows is socially acceptable.

A couple of years ago, he would never have even been able to admit the fact to himself, never mind acknowledge and accept it, as well as feel zero guilt or shame for it.

As the man advances, and Will raises his knife, poised ready for the kill, the only thought running through his head are how this unknown man deserves to die.

The man, who it fortuitously transpires, is of average height and build kicks open the door with force, causing Hannibal to snarl angrily at the footprint the man has undoubtedly made on the cream paintwork.

Rude doesn't begin to cover it, and the audacity of this man believing he can help himself to what isn't his, Hannibal fumes internally. Just for that, he mentally downgrades the thief to a starter at the dinner party he plans on hosting for his insufferable co-workers the following week.

"Good evening," he greets the intruder in a cold clear voice, one that Will knows the meaning of only too well.

"What -"

The words die in the man's throat, as Will from his spot against the wall flings himself forward, plunging the knife into the middle of his back.

The impact is instant and a jolt of adrenaline shoots through Will, making him want to do it again. So, he does. He pulls the knife out, then plunges it back in.

Unable and unwilling to stop, he repeats the action; and keeps doing so. The man falls to the floor knees first, and Will follows his movements. He watches, dazed as the intruder, who still has the knife embedded in his spine, face plants into the expensive cream rug Hannibal paid more for than is legally sane in Will's opinion.

Or rather, the rug _was_ cream. It's now rapidly changing color as the man's blood seeps out all over it.

This realization is what brings Will out of his frenzy. His stare shifts slowly from the corpse on the floor to himself; his old grey shirt is slick with blood, and he can feel it on his face too. He rises to his feet, seeking out Hannibal's gaze which he can feel piercing him.

Hannibal stands in exactly the same position as before, simply waiting to see what will happen next, Will deduces. The man on the floor is dead and Hannibal didn't even have to lift a finger.

The blue eyes meet the brown, and in them Will sees so much love and adoration it makes him want to weep. He reaches for Hannibal, uncaring that he is covered in the intruder's blood and viscera and that Hannibal is still wearing a shirt that cost a small fortune.

Hannibal walks over to Will, closing the distance between them and pulling him into his arms. Will lets out a soft sigh, laying his head on Hannibal's chest, closing his eyes as the thrum of Hannibal's heart grounds him. He can hear how fast it's pounding, and once again a thrill shoots through him; the knowledge that he can make Hannibal the Cannibal's heart race. He's not sure if one man should be allowed to wield such power, but he's certain he will never give it up.

Hannibal rests his chin on the top of Will's head and pulls him flush against his chest, unbothered about his designer shirt.

Will is reminded of their position on the cliff that night, a night that seems so long ago and at the same time as if it were just yesterday.

He wonders how he ever thought nothing would top what he felt standing there with Hannibal, mentally curses himself for being an idiot who didn't realize that every day, Hell, every minute would feel like this with Hannibal once he allowed himself to be, and to _feel_.

Will lifts his head from Hannibal's chest and reaches up to pull Hannibal's face to his, they bump foreheads and Will smiles.

"Will," Hannibal begins, voice tight with emotion. "What you did here tonight -"

"You mean the way I ruined that ridiculously priced rug and this shirt," Will is unable to stop himself from quipping.

Hannibal gives him a wry smile before speaking again; "The way you fought for what we have built here. Our home. Our life. Us. In all my years I have seen none deadlier than you, and I cannot tell you how moved I am by this display of your resplendent wrath and beauty."

"Jesus, Hannibal," Will can feel the blush creeping into his cheeks the way it always does when Hannibal says these things, which is all the time. "He was being terribly rude after all," Will adds, giving Hannibal a wry smile of his own.

"I love you Will," Hannibal murmurs simply, before leaning in and pressing his lips against Will's and running his hand through the dark curls, pulling in a way that never fails to elicit a delicious sound from other man.

Will moans into Hannibal's mouth and before they know it, Hannibal is pressed against the dining room table with Will trying to climb him.

"Take me upstairs Hannibal, take me apart the way you want to," Will whispers against his lips, hands roving, fingers fumbling with buttons, and he doesn't have to ask twice.

Hannibal stops only to make sure the back door is secured and that there are no companions to the man who has definitely ruined Hannibal's rug, lurking around in the shadows before he makes his way over to Will and with a startling display of energy, lifts Will off the ground and carries him, bridal style up the stairs to their bedroom.

He throws kicks the door shut behind them, throws Will down on the bed and proceeds to practically jump on top of him.

Will's last coherent thought before being overtaken by hours of mindless pleasure is how the blood once again looks black in the light of the moon their room is bathed in.

___________________________________________________________________

A couple of hours later, Hannibal and Will lie in a tangle of limbs, both warm and sated.

"I'm sorry to break this to you, but you're gonna have to get new sheets too," Will informs him, surveying the blood smeared across the silk sheets Hannibal had purchased not long ago.

Hannibal gives an affected sigh; "I think I can forgive you, based on the past two hours. As well as your heroics earlier tonight," he plants a soft kiss on Will's cheekbone.

Will smiles, eyes falling shut. "I'm about five minutes away from fallin' asleep, can the rest of the carving wait 'til mornin'?" a hint of his Southern drawl creeps into his tone the way it always does when he's tired.

"Are you referring to the pumpkin or the corpse on our dining room floor?"

Will's only response is a snort of laughter.

"Rest," Hannibal gives him another quick kiss, then - not without reluctance - removes himself from Will's embrace and makes his way down to clean the floor, dispose of the body and give Basil a midnight snack Will doesn't need to know about.

___________________________________________________________________

"There, all done!" Will exclaims as he completes the final cut of the orange grin.

"Well done, Will," Hannibal exclaims proudly. "It turned out beautifully, especially for a first attempt."

"I guess my experience carving other things came in handier than I thought," Will shoots Hannibal a wicked grin that is returned.

Hannibal retrieves a candle from the box on the table and lights it, then lifts the lid and places it inside. Instantly the smile comes to life, its glow almost sentient in the low light of the room.

They carry it to the window together - careful so as not to disturb Basil who is snoozing peacefully in his basket - and admire it for a while. Will, who is standing at the window with Hannibal's arms wrapped around him, nuzzles into his husband's chest, a lump forming in his throat despite his best efforts to push it down. Family is finally a concept he connects to, he realizes as he surveys the scene of domesticity in front of him.

"This is all I ever wanted, for both of us," he echoes Hannibal's words to him on the bluff that night in a voice so soft, so quiet, it's practically a whisper.

"It's beautiful," Hannibal's smooth voice replies, eyes meeting Will's in their reflection. "Happy Halloween, Will."

"Happy Halloween, Hannibal."


End file.
